Daughter of the Eagle (17 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: Daughter of the Eagle
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Black Fox lay
on his bed in the darkness, waiting for the girl to come to him. He could hardly contain his delight. At last he had found a way to control the beautiful warrior woman of the enemy. The mere thought of the power over her that he now possessed made him smile in the darkness.
She had slumped for a time in sullen submission after his ultimatum. He watched her, in the dimness of the lodge, as she glanced at him from time to time. He smoked his pipe and waited.
Finally the girl tossed her head and motioned toward her bound hands. She was still sullen, anger plain on her face, but she wished to talk. Black Fox freed her from the thongs and stood waiting while she rubbed her chafed wrists. When he could stand it no longer, he opened the conversation with an inquiry.
“You wish to talk with me?”
She glared a moment, then her face softened. She answered the question with a question. “What do you wish me to do?”
Black Fox studied the girl's face a long time. Yes, it might
be, he decided. For the very first time since he had known her, she now seemed ready and willing to cooperate.
He had finally discovered the means to control the spirited warrior. The threat of harm to her companion had accomplished what force or threats to herself could not. She appeared willing to do anything to protect Long Walker.
The cunning Black Fox recognized the power of the medicine he now possessed. He must think this through, slowly and carefully, to use this unexpected turn of events to his best advantage.
“What do you wish?” she signaled again.
Plan carefully, he reminded himself. First, make certain that she knows her warrior is treated well.
He spoke to one of the other women and rose to step outside, beckoning Running Eagle to follow. There, while the girl watched, Black Fox retied the prisoner's bonds in a more comfortable manner. He beckoned to the woman who had followed them, and she gave Long Walker a drink from a water skin. Then she sat down before him and began to feed him.
“He must remain tied, because I do not trust him,” Black Fox explained, “but you can see that he is being treated well.”
The girl nodded, appearing perplexed.
“This treatment will continue, if your actions are good. If not …”
He paused and fondled his knife suggestively. Running Eagle was still puzzled.
“Yes, you have said this. What must I do that I have not?”
Black Fox hoped to make his meaning plain. “You have forced me to come to you, and you have rejected me. I am a chief of my people. You should be proud to share my lodge.
That
is what you must do.”
“I do not understand.”
“You must show pride and pleasure in being with me. You must come to
me
, now.”
The prisoner called out to her, a torrent of protest which Black Fox did not understand. There was no question,
however, as to the meaning of the girl's answer. She dismissed the other with a casual wave of her hand and looked back to Black Fox. There was a look of understanding in her eyes, and now the beginning of a smile.
It was a smile, in fact, coupled with a sultry glance through half-lowered lashes. The entire look was so suggestive, so provocative, that he was certain now that she not only understood his meaning, but had accepted it.
“Of course, my chief.”
Somehow her answer was seductive, even in sign talk. Then she held a hand before her in caution, palm outward, before resuming. “But you must give me a little time.”
Black Fox nodded mechanically and ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. This was progressing far better than he could have imagined.
The girl continued, again with a smile that held hidden promises. “I will come to you, after darkness has come.”
For the rest of the daylight time, Black Fox watched her, trying all the while to pretend not to do so. When their glances happened to meet from time to time, there was always the flash of secret promise in her eyes. Several times he caught her sidelong glance under long dark lashes. Ah, that he should be so fortunate! He could hardly wait until the time of darkness.
Running Eagle, now freed for the day from the chores of the lodge, busied herself with other things. Under the resentful watch of the other women, she bathed in the stream. She washed, dried, and smoothed her long hair, finally braiding it after the fashion of the People. If the Head Splitters had known, they might have observed that her braids were those of a woman, not in the style of a man who takes the war path.
Her garment was a woman's dress of the captor's tribe. Black Fox had insisted that she wear it since her capture. She had cleansed the dress as well as she was able and dried it in the warm autumn sunlight. Now she dressed herself and returned to the lodge of Black Fox.
She sat next to him during the evening meal, choosing special morsels of food to place in his mouth with her
fingers. The two other women of the lodge were furious at her bold advances, but Black Fox angrily waved them away and returned to lighthearted dalliance with Running Eagle.
“You will see to your own duties. We wish to be alone,” he called after them.
When the sun had slid below earth's rim, Running Eagle excused herself. “I will go and prepare for the night,” she told him in sign talk. “I will come to you soon.” She gently touched his chest in a gesture of promise and stepped outside.
As he waited impatiently on his pallet of robes, Black Fox again wondered at his good fortune and the strength of his medicine. Soon the girl would come to him, in all the strength and beauty she had promised.
And yes,
she
must come to
him.
He intended to abide by that demand. He would not approach her. She must be the one to take the initiative.
Then the flap of the doorway lifted, and he saw her graceful figure in dim outline against the shadowy darkness outside. There was no fire in the lodge, and the blackness as the door skin dropped back into place was complete.
The other two women had retired, and soft snores came from one of the beds. There was no sound from the other. Little Bird had been the more jealous and would be lying awake in anger. It was no matter, Black Fox knew. Wives often resented the intrusion of a new woman. She would get over it.
Running Eagle came now to his bed, dropping to her knees beside him. She was breathing heavily as she leaned over him. Her hands caressed the bare skin of his chest and shoulders. He felt her shift her weight, and the warmth of her firm body pressed against his.
Ah, this was more like it, Black Fox exulted to himself. Her face was next to his, her breath still panting heavily in his ear in the darkness. Her fingers wandered across his shoulders and his throat, and she caressed his ears, making the hairs stand on his neck.
She scratched playfully beneath the angle of his jaw, murmuring soft little phrases in her own tongue. He did not understand the words, but from the tone of her whisper he assumed this to be part of the passionate ritual of love among her people. Luxuriously he stretched his chin upward to expose his throat to her caressing touch. Then came a moment when a doubt entered his mind. He was partially pinned down beneath the delicious burden of her body. The girl was scratching at his throat, and he was exposing it for her. This was not a thing of good judgment in the presence of a potential enemy.
Suppose, his mind wandered in sudden alarm, suppose the man, Long Walker, had managed to hand her a small knife or other easily concealed instrument. The time when he fell and spilled the corn! Their hands had been busy, together, for only one instant, but there had been no one to see! If he had given her a knife, then this would be the time she would choose—
There was little pain as the sharp flint sliced across his throat. He struggled to rise as he felt the warm trickle of his own blood on his neck. The girl sat astride his body now, knees pinning his arms while a hand over his mouth kept him from crying out. Panic gripped him, and he tried to escape her hold. But she was incredibly strong, and he felt himself weakening rapidly. His last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness was of the time of darkness, when a spirit may not find its way to the other side.
As the struggles of Black Fox ceased, Running Eagle continued her rhythmic panting, accompanied by low exclamations, as if in the heat of passion. She was certain that Little Bird was awake, and the sounds of this death struggle must appear to be those of ecstasy.
Finally she lay quietly for a time, cooling and resting after her exertions. Then she gave a deep sigh and rose, making no pretense at quiet. This was a critical moment. It must appear a natural and logical thing to go outside.
She sighed again and picked up her discarded dress from the floor near Black Fox's bed. She slipped through
the door skin and let it fall. The buckskin dress fell quickly over her head and into place. Once more she gave a long, content sigh for the benefit of any listening ears, then stepped quickly to the place where Long Walker was tied.
“Walker!” she whispered in his ear. “It is time.” Deftly, she cut the bonds on his wrists and ankles. “Come.”
She took his hand to lead the way among the lodges to the meadow where the horse herd grazed.
It would have
been quicker to steal a horse or two from their places near the lodges. Each warrior kept one of his best animals ready for emergencies tied next to his dwelling.
But to loose these horses and lead them among the lodges would create sounds that might wake the sleeping camp. Instead she led the way across the shallow riffle of the stream. In the meadow beyond, the shadowy forms of horses grazed in the dim starlight.
They paused, trying to locate the sentry that they knew must be here somewhere. A man coughed and both pointed silently. He was leaning against a tree a few paces upstream.
“Give me time to get behind him,” Long Walker whispered.
Running Eagle nodded and slipped the small knife into his palm. He stepped into the stream again to wade nearer their quarry.
The girl waited a few moments, then stepped boldly into the open. Instantly the sentry was on the alert, weapon ready.
“
Aiee
,” she spoke as she turned toward him, smiling in the almost darkness. “I am looking for Black Fox,” she told
him in sign talk when she was closer. “Have you seen him?”
The man chuckled. The entire camp was aware of the events of the day and that the beautiful prisoner had prepared herself to go to Black Fox's bed. The sentry relaxed, and she could almost feel his leer in the darkness.
“He is not here.” Another suggestive chuckle. “If I were Black Fox, I would not be hard to find.”
Taking the cue, she moved toward him suggestively. “Could you help me?”
By now the man was practically helpless. Walker's arm circled his throat to keep him from crying out, and the little knife flashed.
“Aiee,
he is well armed,” Walker commented.
He gathered the bow and arrows and handed them to the girl. “Here. You are better with these.”
From its place against the tree, he took a short lance and hefted it for balance. The man had also carried a light war club, which now Long Walker hung at his own waist.
The two moved into the horse herd, searching for likely mounts. It was difficult in the darkness, but there was little time to choose. At any moment Little Bird might become curious about Running Eagle's long absence and give the alarm.
Each selected an animal and circled the jaw with a thong brought from Black Fox's lodge. Together they swung to the horses' backs.
It was important now to move quietly until well away from the herd. The horses must not become excited and noisy and wake the sleeping camp.
They followed the stream for a long bow-shot's distance, then entered the shallow water to hide their tracks as they traveled downstream. When they emerged at a rocky crossing, they immediately entered a meadow of tall grass to further confuse the trail.
Finally they were able to ascend to the flat table of the upland, where they traveled rapidly. Not until long afterward did they pause to rest their horses and themselves. Exhausted from the stress and their exertions, they stretched flat on the
crest of a ridge that would give them a view of the back trail.
“It is good to ride together again, Walker. Thank you for coming.”
“It was nothing,” he answered.
Beyond that, he did not speak. Some things were better unsaid.
At daybreak they studied the area they had crossed and found no sign of enemy pursuit. It was as expected; the Head Splitters must wait until daylight to search for the trail.
They remounted and moved on. They circled, backtracked, crossed a long slope of loose rock, waded another stream—all to confuse the enemy pursuit. All of their movements, however, took the same general direction, back toward the camp of their own band.
During their stops to rest and let the horses graze, they talked of many things, but not of the thing closest to the heart of Long Walker: What now? He was afraid to broach the subject, and the girl did not do so.
Was her mission complete, he wondered, her vows fulfilled? Surely she had wrought enough vengeance for her brother's death. She had struck down enough of the enemy for one lifetime. The last time the subject had come between them, though, was an unpleasant time. He would wait.
Before dark fell, Long Walker killed a fat yearling buffalo bull, and they risked a fire to cook and eat.
They were ravenously hungry and consumed great quantities of meat. Their fire was kept small, and they carefully chose the driest of fuel to hold the smoke to a minimum. Its blaze was allowed to subside before full darkness to avoid the reflection of firelight in the night.
The fugitives huddled together for warmth, but both were cautious. Neither wished to risk the misunderstanding that had resulted from close physical contact previously.
With the first light of dawn they were on the move again. It would be several sleeps before they reached the relative safety of their own tribe's area of influence.
They made no effort to conceal evidence of their stop. Scavengers had stripped the bull's carcass during the night,
and already circling buzzards were dropping to investigate any remaining fragments.
Their fire's evidence could not be concealed. The ashes would remain until the next rain, but there seemed little likelihood that they were pursued anyway. In the more relaxed situation, they began to converse, to enjoy each other again, in a way that had not occurred for several moons. Long Walker was encouraged but did not attempt to press the advantage. Their talk was of trivial things, the beauty of the day, the spicy smell of the prairie in autumn, and the treasured memories of their childhood together.
Running Eagle still avoided all mention of her plans for the future. Actually she did so from reluctance to face the questions that the future held. For so long she had felt trapped in a series of events where she had had no choice, no control over her life. Now the thought that it was over, that she could make decisions in her life's direction, was a difficult one.
It was easier merely to ride with Long Walker to enjoy his companionship, to eat, to sleep, and to enjoy the warm sunlight of the quiet days. The girl did not realize that she was refusing to face the choices that she must make.
However, another discovery as they traveled suddenly eliminated the need to think of the future. They had stopped on the crest of a wind-swept ridge to rest and survey the distant prairie.
The distant blue haze of earth's rim was more than a day's travel away in all directions. There were the myriad sounds of the grassland and the scattered herds of buffalo, elk, and the occasional antelope. A yellow-breasted lark sang his chortling song from a nearby stone, and all seemed well.
Then suddenly Long Walker, who had been studying their back trail, stepped to the top of a boulder for better view.
“Aiee,
Running Eagle! They come!”
She followed his pointing finger. There, less than a half-day's easy travel away, a line of mounted warriors filed over the ridge and moved rapidly toward them.
The girl's spirits fell in despair. Would this never end?

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